Thus, Luke did not know how to behave in theton,and what little he did know, made him certain he would never enjoy it.I wish I had never been born into the nobility,he thought.I wish I were a gardener or blacksmith. Or perhaps a carpenter. A carpenter would be nice.
“Oooh, boys!” Clara’s friend, Amanda, sang out. "Won't you join us for tea?” She was a petite girl, with jet black curls. She clasped her hands behind her back and slowly tilted her head from side to side. Luke assumed it was meant to be flirtatious, but just watching her made him feel a bit dizzy.
“Unfortunately, we must decline,” John responded, in a voice far more sophisticated than most twelve-year-old boys. “Lord Maxwell and I have just returned from our ride and are not properly suited for the occasion.”
“Oh,” the girl slumped in disappointment. “Well, good day, then.” She lowered herself back down onto the blanket.
Luke had never been more grateful for England’s obsession with changing clothes. “What are we going to do now?” he whispered as the boys drifted back to the house.
“Papa invited us to join him on a tenant visit.” John shrugged. “I cannot remember which family we are seeing, but if we dress quickly, I bet he would let us stop for a sweet while we are out.”
The boys had been on several visits with Lord Merritt. John seemed indifferent about spending time with the earl as he performed his duties, but Luke devoured every second. After each trip, he returned to his bedchamber and filled his commonplace book with everything he had observed. He poured over those notes often, hoping reading about a good gentleman could help him become one. Of course, as an adolescent boy, he could not find it in himself to express any of his feelings to his closest friend. He could not have John knowing he enjoyed something so dull. So instead, Luke mustered up a bored look of his own, making sure his voice held as little excitement as possible. “A sweet would be nice.”
A light knock sounded on the nursery door as Clara’s maid finished her bedtime plaits. Several squeals sounded throughout the room while the children waited in not so patient anticipation. Any child who had spent a night at Rosecrest knew what that knock meant. “Hold still,” the maid urged as she quickly tied silk bows to the end of each plait. All of the children were wriggling, hoping to make it to their beds quickly so the wooden door would open.
The nursery took up nearly the entire third floor of the estate. It was a massive square, with boxy windows on the far side, and ample space for toys, tea tables, and rows of small beds. The room housed only Clara, though it was rarely occupied by her alone. While its size was impressive, the thing that made the Merritt’s nursery unique was the artwork. Small painted images of various fairytales adorned the walls: Robin Hood, knights, dragons, dancing elephants … All hand painted by Clara’s talented grandmother.
“Shhh!” the children whispered to each other. The nursery door would not open until all were quiet.
Finally, silence filled the room, and then Lord Merritt’s voice carried through the wooden door. “ClaraBear, ClaraBear, are you in there?” No matter how many times she heard her father say those words, they never lost their magic.
“Yes!” Clara sang out.
The earl entered, glancing around to ensure each child was tucked inside their little bed. Only when every head rested on a pillow, would the story begin. The dark-headed man walked slowly down the rows of mattresses, a small smile on his face. Seeing the children properly situated, Papa proclaimed, “Once upon a time, there was a tiny elf named …”
He paused and the children threw out suggestions, “Theodore!” “Martha!” “Ebert!”
“Sir Themabert,” Papa declared, combining all of the responses. The children giggled. “Sir Themabert was out walking one day when he saw a cottage. Though it was not a regular sort of cottage. This particular home was made of …”
“Cheese!” they all yelled in unison. For some reason, the house was always made of cheese.
“Oh yes, one knows there are an awful lot of cheese cottages these days.” The earl nodded in agreement. “This was not Sir Themberfilin-”
“Themabert!” The children giggled. Lord Merritt never could remember the ridiculous names of his characters.
“Oh yes, Themabert.” He playfully hit the palm of his hand against his forehead, “Well, this was not Sir Themabert’s home, so he continued on until he ran into the most gorgeous fairy. Her name was …”
“Clara!” Clara yelled before the other children could give input.
“Why, yes! Miss Clara Flifferface. How could I have forgotten?”
The children roared with laughter and Clara rolled her eyes.Silly Papa.
“And the fairy and the elf went on the most wonderful adventure!” Lord Merritt stepped to the first of the beds where his youngest nephew lay. “And …” he prompted as he tucked the sheets around the small boy.
“Caught a frog!” the child responded.
Lord Merritt smiled down at him. “Why, that sounds perfect.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Goodnight, Tom.”
He made his way to the next bed, where Tom’s big sister lay quietly. “And what did our adventurers do after that, Miss Emma?”
“They flew to the top of a mountain.”
“Excellent,” he whispered as he tucked her in as well.
Lord Merritt stopped at each bed. Allowing the children to all assist in the story. It took a great deal of time this particular night, though Papa never complained. Little Tom snored lightly by the time the last child finished the tale. As the nursery maids blew out the unneeded candles, Papa returned to Clara’s bedside, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “I love you, my ClaraBear,” he whispered before slipping out the door.
Clara snuggled deep into her mattress, smiling, as she came to the end of yet another perfect day.
